


Stone and Snow

by Survivor_reborn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, jonsa, mature for later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-10-27 10:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17765093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Survivor_reborn/pseuds/Survivor_reborn
Summary: Jon finds a girl in grey, and fire is rekindled.





	1. A Glimmer of Fire

She looked like a wight, her cheeks hollow, eyes haunted with memory. ‘The girl in grey,’ Melisandre had called her. Her horse carried her to the gate and sank down into the snow, heavy gouts of steam pushing into the air as it fought to breathe, and died.

‘My lady,’ Jon Snow said softly. Her hair, black as his brothers’ cloaks, hung lank and limp. ‘I’m sorry.’ He felt disappointment sink into his chest like the cold of steel. This was not Arya, she who looked like him, with her long solemn face and her winter grey eyes. No, this girl… she could only be a Baratheon, with hair so black and eyes a blue he might have seen before, in Stannis. ‘What is your name?’

‘Alayne Stone, my lord,’ she whispered.

‘That’s pretty,’ he smiled, though he knew it didn’t meet his eyes. He was haunted too. She flinched away when he reached for her hand. ‘Come inside,’ he said. ‘Get warm.’ When she walked by, her scent was sweet. He licked his lips and followed.

‘I would be grateful for a bath, my lord,’ she said. ‘And some peace. I have not had peace for such a long time.’ He shook himself, and nodded.

‘Of course. I am afraid there are no women at Castle Black, not yet, but you can borrow something of mine.’ She looked at him, and he got the distinct impression she knew him. Still, she held her tongue until they were tucked away in his office behind the armoury. Ghost was curled beneath his desk, and gazed at the girl, silent. ‘I hope he doesn’t frighten you, my lady, but he and I are inseparable, I am afraid.’

‘Jon,’ her voice was choked with emotion. He stared at her, his eyes wide, and looked to Ghost, who padded over and nudged her palm. She buried her hand in his soft fur and Jon got a fragment of gentle touch.

‘You know me.’ It wasn’t a question. She nodded.

‘Forgive me. It has been a long and arduous journey-‘

‘No. My apologies. Stay here, I’ll find you some clothes.’ He walked out to his quarters, but Ghost did not follow. He found his cloak, jerkin and breeches, and warm boots that looked as though they might fit Alayne. On his return, he saw her warming herself by the fire, curled into herself and staring into the flames. He set the clothes down, and fetched his bath. She did not speak as he fetched water, until it was steaming in the tub, and he had found what soap he could.

‘I’m sure you have stewards,’ she said, almost smiling.

‘I was a steward. Foolish to let the skill go to waste.’ He almost smiled back. ‘Send Ghost to me when you’re done. He likes you.’ There was a pause, and he almost felt a real true moment of happiness.

‘Would… would you wash my hair, my lord?’ Her voice was quiet, timid even. ‘I do not trust anyone in this castle, but I feel I can trust you. You’re Eddard Stark’s son.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, he was my father.’ Let them say Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three. ‘Very well, my lady, but say the word and I will go.’ She shrugged off her cloak, and beneath it she was painfully thin; Jon felt anger rise in his chest, that she was in this condition. ‘Give me a moment, my lady. I’ll ensure food is brought to you.’

He left again, and when he returned, the girl was submerged in the hot water, steam rising around her like a vision. She’d submerged her head, and the water was a clouded grey. He averted his eyes, and felt a blush in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. I didn’t think I could blush anymore.

‘Will you help me wash my hair?’

‘Of course,’ he approached and knelt by the tub, taking the cake of soap in his hands. He sluiced water over her hair and gently ran his hands through it. The water darkened. Dye. He continued to work in silence. Ghost’s presence seemed to calm her, because she didn’t flinch from him, just sang softly to herself. He recognized the song; it was the story of Jonquil, and Florian the fool. As the soap lifted more of the dye from her hair, he thought he glimpsed glints of fire in it, but no, he must have been thinking of Ygritte and her deep red hair. His hands stilled as more red was revealed, real and shining in the low light.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, soft.

‘Sansa,’ he breathed. ‘Sansa.’ I thought you were dead. You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re here.

‘Jon…’ he could hear heartbreak in her voice, steeling herself for rejection.

‘I won’t leave you,’ he said. Her hair was clean now, and he bowed his head, closing his eyes. ‘Tell me when it’s safe to look. When it’s safe to hold you. Gods be good.’ He heard her rise from the tub, listened to the rustle as she dressed in his clothes.

‘Okay,’ she said. He looked up. She bit her lip, uncertain, but as he rose to his feet, he gathered her up into his arms, holding her to the warmth of his body. He inhaled the scent of her hair, her small hands sending shocks through him even through his cloak as she held onto him tightly, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

‘I’ve got you,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll never let you be hurt again, I promise. I promise.’

‘I know.’ She nuzzled into him, the tension melting from her. When they stepped apart, he picked up his cloak and swept it across her shoulders. ‘We’ve lost everything.’ Her blue eyes sparkled, and he recognized the lady Catelyn in them, and Robb, and Bran, and baby Rickon. ‘Even our home- Lord Baelish received news it’d been seized by the Boltons.’

‘Ramsay is a bastard,’ Jon growled. ‘He’s no trueborn son, only snow, like me. It is not his castle. It’s yours. Yours, and Arya’s now.’ He took a deep breath, remembering the letter he’d received, the one with the pink seal.

‘We need to take it back,’ she said. ‘It has always been a Stark stronghold. It can’t be left in Bolton hands, bastard or no.’

‘Aye.’ Jon looked at her seriously. ‘He has Arya, or so he tells me. And there’s word that Stannis is moving to displace him, the fool. He’ll never do it, not in these storms.’ He shook his head, apparently disgusted. ‘But we can’t stay here. We have to go.’

‘Why?’ He shook his head, not ready to speak of it yet, so she looked at her feet and said instead, ‘where will you go?’

‘Where will we go?’ He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was drying in the fire’s heat, lightening a little. ‘I said I wouldn’t leave you. You’ve been among lions and mockingbirds too long. You’re my family, Sansa.’

‘The pack survives,’ she murmured.

‘Aye. So we’ll go home. Where else is there?’ He watched her face, saw her don some internal armour. She straightened her back, raised her head and looked at him with clear eyes, and in that second he was reminded of Ygritte, glaring at him defiantly.

‘They killed our family,’ Sansa said, a note of iron in her voice. ‘The Boltons, the Freys, the Lannisters. We have to make them pay for what they’ve done, Jon. Together, we’ll take it back. For Father, and Robb, and Bran, and Rickon. For my mother. We’ll avenge them. We’ll save Arya, and remind Ramsay Snow that winter is coming for him. Because you’re a Stark too, you have father’s blood. We need to do this for them, and for us.’

Jon nodded. He’d never seen Sansa like this before; she wasn’t the girl he remembered. But he’d changed, as well. ‘Ghost,’ he murmured. The direwolf rose, moving to Jon’s side. ‘We’re going home.’


	2. Pack Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa make war plans.

‘We need to take him by surprise,’ murmured Sansa. ‘He’s vicious and he thinks he’s cleverer than most, but he’s impulsive. He wants to go where his interest lies.’

‘No,’ Jon looked up from the figurines he was moving across the table, his face awash with candlelight. It softened him a little, though when he leaned back, the wolf in him could be seen. ‘I’ll not let you be live bait. It’s out of the question.’

‘If it’s the only way to draw him out-‘

‘We go to him, or find another way. Wun Wun can break down the door. Anything—’

Sansa huffed in frustration, banging the heel of her hand on the table. ‘We don’t have enough men for an attack like that. We’d be cut down.’

‘I’m not risking you, Sansa.’ It was a growl, and when he looked at her his grey eyes gleamed with stubborn intensity. ‘I just got you back, we just found each other again. I won’t risk you with that monster.’

Sansa glowered back, leaning across the table and baring her own wolf’s teeth. ‘I have been with that _monster_ for a lot longer than you know, Jon Snow. I know him. I have the upper hand here, he’d never expect me to go back willingly, never. So we do this, or you go south and get warm and I’ll do it myself. I’m going home. You’re not going to stop me.’

Jon gritted his teeth, snarled his displeasure. He grabbed her shoulders. ‘What if I lose you?! What am I to do then?’

Sansa shrank back a little, blue eyes fearful. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

‘Shit, Sansa I—’ Jon smoothed his hands down her arms, lowered his voice to a soft rumble. ‘I’m scared for you.’

‘Do you distrust me that much?’

Jon stepped back, eyes widening. Sansa followed in the tight space, her chin raising defiantly. ‘Of course I trust you, don’t be stupid.’

‘Jon, I know more than you do. _Listen_ to me. This will work, and I’m not going to die, I swear it on the old gods and the new. There are still men and women in the North who fight for the name Stark, who fly the direwolf proudly. We won’t be alone. I have the Stark name, and you learned to lead at Castle Black, as much as you could. We can do this, but I need you to believe in me.’

‘I do,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ she said gently, stepping into his waiting arms.


End file.
